In a world where creativity often feels competitive and isolating, Lloyd’s Workshop stands out as something rare: a global collective of artists, photographers, and dreamers connected not by geography but by vision, vulnerability, and a shared desire to grow. Matthew LeBroke is one of those creatives. From the outside, he might seem like another aspiring photographer. But in conversation, it’s clear: his story isn’t just about taking pictures—it’s about finding purpose, community, and the courage to be seen. “I started off just lurking in the Discord,” Matthew laughs. “I was nervous to say anything.” Fast forward to today, and he’s not only an active member, he’s one of the Workshop’s most imaginative voices, known for wildly creative submissions and a bold sense of visual storytelling.
His playlist tells you a lot about his energy: Karol G, Miley Cyrus throwbacks, and Omar Apollo on repeat. But his creative influences are closer to home. “Sophie’s edits are so sharp,” he says, referring to a fellow Workshop participant. “And Chris Stokes, a photographer from San Antonio, has really inspired me. I’ve been studying how he shoots concerts; it’s pushed me to think more critically about how I want to edit, how I want to create.”
Matthew’s creative path began far from any stage or studio. In 2014, he launched a fashion blog and began experimenting with Photoshop. That early experience taught him how to shape a visual story. But it was a cousin’s encouragement that introduced him to portrait photography and, eventually, concert photography, where he found his rhythm. “I’ve always gravitated toward music,” he says. “I wasn’t sporty growing up. I just wanted to make things.”
His approach is deeply intuitive. Visual sparks catch in his mind and spiral into complete concepts. “Sometimes I’ll see a CD cover and think, they should’ve used this font or done it this way,” he explains. One image might trigger an entire shoot. That’s precisely how one of his most iconic pieces came to life: a self-portrait featuring a massive DIY hat made from Amazon boxes. “I spray-painted it, took the portraits, and submitted it all in a day,” he says. “I didn’t even place that week, but it’s still the piece I’m most proud of.”
Coming from a small town far from any creative hub, Matthew’s experience is one many artists will recognize. “It’s hard to practice concert photography when there are no concerts,” he admits. “But the Workshop became my lifeline. We talk, we share, and we push each other. Even when I can’t shoot music, I’m still growing.” The impact of the Workshop extends beyond weekly challenges and technical tutorials. “This place is human,” he says. “We don’t just share our work; we share our insecurities, our stories, our hopes.” That sense of safety and support, Matthew says, is driven by Lloyd Wakefield himself. “My first call with Lloyd, I was literally shaking. But he was so kind. He asked how I was, not just my work, but me.” That care and attention, Matthew adds, is what makes people give their all. “He’s more than a photography mentor. He’s like a life mentor.”
Weekly challenges, ranging from slow-shutter experiments to motion blur and conceptual themes, have expanded Matthew’s skills and mindset. “I failed at the motion blur one,” he says, grinning. “But that’s the point. You don’t have to submit. Just try. That’s how you grow.” For Matthew, the Workshop isn’t just a platform; it’s proof that small towns can foster immense creativity when given the proper outlet. “If you can’t find a creative community, make one,” he says. “And when you find people who think like you, hold onto them.”
Looking ahead, he aspires to move into creative directing, working closely with artists to shape their visual identities from concept to execution. “Music is still my heart,” he says. “But I want to help people see their own art in new ways.” When asked what advice he’d give to his younger self or to someone thinking of joining the Workshop, his answer is simple: “Don’t be afraid. Don’t wait. Reach out. Some people won’t help you, but most will. And you never know where one connection might lead. Just jump in. You don’t have to be great at first. You have to show up. Try. Watch how it changes you.” Ultimately, the Workshop isn’t just about photography. It’s about building a life where creativity has space to breathe, to break, and to begin again. Surrounded by people who see you not just as an artist but as a whole person. And in a world that often demands perfection, such a space is revolutionary.
